Once a burglar, always a burglar
by Earane Telrunya
Summary: When Bilbo hits his head just a little too hard during a barrel ride gone awry and wakes up not knowing who he is or why on Middle earth he is with a Company of thirteen Dwarves on a quest to save a lost kingdom from a dragon, is there any way of fixing him? Or will the Company never be with their dear burglar again? NO SLASH, Kiliel on the side ;) Movie/book verse
1. Veiled agony

**Well, this is my first ever published story and I'll apologize right now for all of the grammatical errors, now and in any future chapters. I'm only apologizing once :) I sincerely hope that this goes over well and I hope this gets a good response!  
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**I do not own The Hobbit in any way, shape or form XD  
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Being quiet was something quite difficult to achieve at times, or so Bilbo found out. Hobbits were small, gentle creatures, that were not too fond of drawing attention to themselves from the outside world- or certain relatives in their little world- and so to avoid such things, they themselves each had a knack for being their own little brand of hermit. Of course they would interact amongst each other- or at least, most of them would- their children playing in the surrounding forests of the Shire and they had annual gatherings and celebrations that everyone who happened to be anyone turned out to be invited to and they in turn invited anyone who was someone to them, which, in turn, happened to be the rest of everyone and the whole Shire ended up invited one way or another. Despite that, each and every Hobbit had a very special talent for disappearing and staying hidden from anyone they did not want to find them. It was something that had been bred into their race instead of a talent for fighting or a thirst for war and bloodshed. They had been taught to, in a way, _fear_ the other inhabitants of Middle earth, be they elf or orc, and in this way they kept themselves safe. Sometimes it was better to be lost amongst friends than it was to be seen amongst enemies, and in this case, Bilbo was finding it harder and harder to tell the two apart.

The young Hobbit tiptoed around a corner in the vast and winding halls of Mirkwood, the pale and glorious walls stretched high above his little frame and an almost hollow feeling at the monotony of the palace decor and the cold lights filled Bilbo as he once again made his way to his Company's cells deep withing the Forest Kingdom's walls.

Almost four weeks they had been here, trapped by The Elven King of Mirkwood when old wounds had been reopened in both Thranduil and Thorin, the 'Kingdomless King Under the Mountain'.

Bilbo had found them both to be acting like children when it really came down to it, but that was something he would rather keep to himself than share aloud around any of the Dwarves. Simply the mention of any rift they had with their _former _allies or how Thorin had handled the first and only meeting they had had with the ruler of the Eldarian race with all the finesse of a falling brick house would send the mountain dwellers into a cursing fit in Khuzdul and Westron, at times making Bilbo stick his fingers into his tiny pointed ears to avoid anymore tainting of what little decency he had somehow managed to keep hold of up until now.

And Thorin still held his grudge, though fading as Bilbo knew it was. Being held apart from each other, the Dwarrow had become anxious and restless in their solitude. Bilbo had done all he could to keep them in good cheer and to hold their hopes above toiling waters but no matter what he did time still held the most change in the world and his companions eventually lost all hope of ever leaving the dungeons. They did not speak much with him anymore as he made his way from cell to cell to deliver the daily messages from brother to cousin to uncle and back again, nor did any but Bofur find reason to hold conversation for any reason other than to notify of a change in guard or routine. And Bifur, but that never went very far.

And no news of an escape ever came, for Bilbo found it to be nigh impossible to free them without getting caught. And as the days had gone by and his own hope had begun to fail him, the ever present blur of the world passing by in a darker shadow than it should ever be in had him physically and mentally weary.

He had never gone this long without removing his ring. He could count on one hand how many times he had done so since following the band of elves through the front door and still have fingers left over. It bothered him with increasing greatness that this world was becoming more familiar than his own. The last time he had removed the Ring had been eight agonizingly long days ago and Bilbo did not know if it was his imagination, but maybe there were more people in this realm than just him. Shadows walked behind him and crept in corners but every time he turned to look they would be gone, having either disappeared or never been there in the first place.

He longed to be rid of the golden band, to cast it away as his comfort towards it grew but he could not. Not yet. But soon, for as he turned down another hall, nearly brushing a guard in the arm in his haste, he knew that he would be able to remove it from his hand soon enough. A plan, at long last!, a plan had formed in his mind on his fifth trip to the cellar in the month they had been captive. The Key-Keeper was apt to leave his lunch plate unattended and it would usually to be the only food that Bilbo saw in a day, his stomach having sadly grown used to being empty. And as his clothes grew bigger upon his already scrawny frame- for Hobbits found food a great comfort to partake in and ate seven meals a day to match their extremely fast metabolisms, not including snacks- he found himself growing weary with it, and it certainly did not help that he only slept every other night, it being so hard to find a place that was not always traveled and would stay unoccupied for at least a few hours where he would not be caught up underfoot.

He did not think that he had had a good nights rest since before this entire journey started and certainly even less so since their arrival in Mirkwood, but he did not intend to show any weakness in front of Thorin. He was not useless or defenseless and he could take care of himself and the others should the need arise. And he would prove himself now, as he turned a final corner and approached their leader's cell, pulling a large ring bouncing with keys from the side pocket on his beloved red jacket which, by now, might possibly fit two of him.

"Thorin!"

The Dwarf King jumped nearly a foot in the air from where he was seated against the far wall in his cell as Bilbo all but slammed into the iron bars between them, unconcerned for the ruckus he was making.

Thorin scrambled to his feet, tossing aside whatever he had been doing to the floor as alarm lit up his face and his eyes searched the area outside his cell for his burglar and the source of his 'panic'.

"Bilbo? What has happened? Are you alright?"

Bilbo was trying every key in the lock on the door and his unsteady hands shook much more than they should have, increasing the noise he was making, if at all possible. The Hobbit growled in frustration and paused, taking a deep breath and pulling the Ring off of his finger as the shadow blurred his mind and he could hardly focus on the task in front of him.

Thorin's eyes landed on him as he came into sight but Bilbo immediately turned back to his previous task.

"I have found a way out, Thorin. We must go find the others and then we will be on our way out of this deathtrap."

Thorin Oakenshield frowned down at his burglar. He looked different than the last he had seen him, though that had been quite some time ago. He was pale and thin and shadows marred his face in a way he was certain they never should, planting a seed of doubt in the Dwarf King.

"Bilbo...?"

The Hobbit paused, a single untried key poised in the lock, waiting to be turned and either discarded like the others or marveled in triumph, but the use of his real name, not 'Burglar' or 'Master Baggins', especially coming from Thorin, caught his attention.

Large green eyes that once held so much light and laughter seemed flat and dull, their vibrant colors having long since faded from them. His bouncing mop of honey-blonde curls had lost its sheen and now appeared as scraggly and lifeless as the rest of him. Had wandering around Mirkwood free of a cell granted him no rest? Did it prove to be more of a prison than what the Dwarrow had been put into?

"Burglar," Thorin started again after a moments pause and the young Hobbit was at least looking at him. "You look near death. How have you-?"

But Bilbo cut him off with a huff, loud enough to make Thorin cringe.

"Thorin, we do not have time for such trivial matters! Our time is limited and we must go!" He then turned the key and the hollow sound of the tumblers clicking into place sent a jolt of adrenaline through the Dwarf and, as Bilbo had hoped, distracted him for at least the time being.

As he stepped from his prison Thorin clasped the small Hobbit on either shoulder and Bilbo's knees shook for a terrible moment and he thought that he might collapse under the sudden pressure upon him. But then the weight was gone and the rushing pound in his ears eased enough so that he could hear what the king was saying to him.

Bilbo made a 'shushing' motion and waved for him to follow as he headed back down the hallway and, taking a different turn this time, ventured deeper into the maze of dungeons that anyone but the Elves and himself would surely be lost in.

He had planned all of this before, mapping it out in his head for the lack of parchment and quill and preparing for the past two days. The Feast of Starlight, is what they called it. A celebration of the Elves that served as nothing more to Bilbo than a very decent distraction where they would all be getting drunk and that he would have found no complaints about had it come a little earlier in the season.

As for right now, his plan was right on track and he hardly cast a backward glance at Thorin as he silently made his way through the winding stone halls with practiced ease, the king following behind with much less grace or silence and the slightly larger creature was beginning to have trouble keeping up with the nimble one ahead.

Before Thorin could fall too far behind Bilbo stopped at another barred door and began the process of finding which key would unlock it again. Thorin heard the familiar and long missed voice of Balin and when the door finally swung open they clasped forearms and greeted each other with great enthusiasm, or what would be considered great enthusiasm for the two old friends.

And it was like this that the little Hobbit led the slowly increasing number of Dwarrow up and down and around the labyrinth, next collecting Bofur then Bombur, Oin and Ori, then Dwalin. Fili was next and the young lad shared a rough but tender embrace with his uncle and Bilbo would have sworn that a tear or two was shed but no one would ever mention it. From there they went on to Nori and Dori, who were rather close to each other and they both fell on Ori, immediately questioning his treatment by the Elves and how skinny and sickly he had become when in all reality the entire Company had been fed and rested better here than they had been the long few months they had been on the road and none of them had found tightening of their belts to be required. Save one.

After that, the noise upon which the group behind him seemed to insist on making flustered their dear burglar and he soon found himself very turned around and they had to backtrack, nearly running into several guards that were wandering around, albeit on the drunken side. He decided to take a chance and left his Dwarves in as safe a crevice as he could find, scurrying along until he found himself in a familiar place and got turned right ways round. Passing Gloin's cell on his way back to the Dwarves he released the red haired warrior and bid him follow. Upon arriving back, Bilbo then took a moment to tell them all to 'Shut their bloody Dwarf-holes or so help him!' before continuing on.

Young Kili was the next to be found, simply tossing a green stone of some kind into the air before Bilbo made himself known and the lad sprung to his feet, eyes eager and wild for freedom. His reunion with Fili was something that brought tears to the Hobbit's eyes and he did not ever want to imagine what would happen to one of them if they ever be parted more permanently, Mahal forbid.

"Mister Boggins, you are the most brilliant creature to have ever lived on Middle earth!" Kili exclaimed, his face crinkling in a smile every single one of them had missed and Bilbo took a moment to blush and fluster to himself a moment.

"Now, now, Kili, if I were it surely would not have taken nearly this long for myself to figure something as simple as this turned out to be. I berate myself at how I have managed to take so simple a task and make it a thousand times harder than it had any right to be. And because I have, you all have been stuck here, wasting away in the dungeons and I might have cost you Durin's Day as a result. So, no, my lad, I do not believe that I am."

Bilbo had begun to walk away by that time and so he did not notice the odd looks that were exchanged amongst the Company, concern and worry for their burglar obvious on their faces. They continued to follow him to the final cell they would encounter before their departure and a few of them even tried speaking with him but Bilbo would have none of that. He made sure they stayed quiet, though a herd of Dwarves in nothing but their trousers and undershirts still somehow managed to sound like they were wearing full battle armor, minor accessories and all, as they bumped into each other and grumbled the entire way.

Bifur's cell was further away than any of the other's had been and Bilbo had a slight suspicion as to why, though he never planned on mentioning it and he hoped that none of them came to the same conclusion he had. Bifur was different than the other Dwarves, very different indeed. He could only speak Khuzdul and _Iglishmek_, the dwarf version of sign-language, and while he was by no means any more violent or crude than the rest of the Company, he did come across as being quite wild even to Bilbo who was, by now, very used to all things rudimentary and Dwarvish. Be that as it may, Bilbo was sure that Bifur had not taken any form of 'civility' into consideration when it came to handling the elves and he was even more sure that the fair-haired creatures hadn't taken his 'manners' too lightly. Bilbo had seen them simply throwing his food at him and calling him vulgar things that the Hobbit dared not repeat, simply because they had thought that he could not understand them be it Westron or their own Elvish tongue that they chose to speak. Bifur's disability had never been his fault and though they had never been the closest of friends Bilbo still felt it wound one of the thirteen pieces of his stout yet tender heart to see him be treated as an animal.

Upon approaching his cell, Bilbo could see the gruff dwarf sitting in his usual corner where he was as far out of sight as he could be in hopes that any of the passing elves would, for once, leave him be.

"Bifur." Bilbo intoned softly, whispering so he would avoid startling the Dwarf.

Bifur was on his feet in an instant and at the bars before Bilbo even registered that he had moved in the first place. The Hobbit started slightly before signing in the sparse Iglishmek that he knew, his flow and form leaving much to be desired. He had spent many a dreary afternoon with the Dwarf and Bifur had managed to teach him at least enough of the hand-language that he could send a few messages to the other Dwarves, as touchily pieced together as they might have been. Bilbo told him that they were escaping and when his eyes landed on the group the dwarf immediately went into a long, harsh, and what Bilbo suspected was very colorfully detailed, tirade that he continued even when he was out of his cell and with the others.

Bilbo sighed and turned to look at the thirteen Dwarrow squeezing into the hallway behind him. They were finally free. No, not yet, he had to remind himself. This was only the first step in getting them out of here. Now he must take them to the cellars and they would be one step closer to being rid of this place forever. Bilbo could hardly wait.

But, wait, he must. As did the others for just as they were about to exit the dungeons an elf twisted her way around the corner making them all freeze as she passed not five feet from where they were standing. How she did not see them he did not know, but Bilbo held in his sigh of relief a little longer, having learned that keen elf ears picked up on the smallest of sounds even from the smallest of creatures. And having learned to be ever more aware himself, he did not miss the low intake of breath from Kili behind him at the appearance of the red-haired elf maiden. Normally he would have put stock that there was something else entirely going on here that he should have picked up on, but the only thing he felt concern for at this moment was that the she-elf had turned another corner and was heading down to the lower level of cells, right where the Dwarves had been not ten minutes ago.

"Move!" He whispered as loudly as he dared and they were off down the hall. Bilbo found no point in being quiet anymore for when the elf found their cells empty the alarm would be raised no matter what they did. But nor did that mean he held no concern for the racket they were creating and he ushered them forward with a finger to his lips, in hopes that they would move as quietly as possible as fast as they could.

Upon arrival to the cellar, Bilbo supposed he could not have asked for better. Kili had only tripped over his own feet twice, putting at least a little less shame on Thorin who had somehow managed to fling himself headlong with no warning, as if he had run straight into a log, into Dwalin who then knocked into Ori who stumbled into Bombur, who they then had to chase as he rolled uncontrollably down a completely different hall.

If the Dwarves of the Line of Durin weren't the clumsiest of them all then Bilbo was, by no means, a Hobbit.

It could have been worse and Bilbo was grateful that it hadn't been. He motioned for the Dwarves to wait and he completely ignored the indignant huff from Thorin as the king bristled at the dismissive gesture and he quickly made his way down the beautiful wooden steps that led to thir escape.

After checking that the coast was clear and they were entirely alone he called up to the Company and they all traipsed into the room with walls of stone and a distinct smell of alcohol on the air.

"Oh, well done, _master _burglar." Nori snapped, yet their was no anger in his voice, merely irritation. "Trapped us in the cellars now, have you? How do you expect us to get out'a here, hmm?"

Bilbo huffed in irritation himself. Why did he always have to be questioned amongst them? Did they not trust him to know what he was doing?

_No. _He supposed. _They do not..._

And in a way, they had every right to, or so Bilbo believed. If he had been the prisoner of his worst enemy for nearly a month and the only way out was someone that had been simply wandering around for that entire length of time, he too would be skeptical of that person. When several of the others grunted in agreement with Nori's accusation Bilbo's face fell but he tried to pick up his courage once more, like he had every day since this journey began.

"We do not have nearly enough time for argument!" The Hobbit was beginning to fluster and everything was tilted at an odd angle. He hadn't had reason to run around like that for quite a while, definitely not nearly that much all at one time and now he was beginning to feel quite nauseas and lightheaded. Something must have shown on his face for a hand was placed on his shoulder, though it felt more like an anvil at the moment, and he looked up at Bofur who was glaring at the others from under his hat.

"Now see here, Bilbo has done right by us and we should be glad he didn't just leave us to rot like the ungrateful lot we clearly are!"

Normally Bilbo would have smiled at Bofur and brushed it all off as nothing but he could hardly find the energy to stand anymore.

"Bofur..." He mumbled, as good a protest as he was getting from himself at the moment. Before anyone else could speak he brushed the hand from his shoulder and wiggled around Bofur, heading to the back of the room.

"Now I need you all to listen," he cleared his throat as his voice turned raspy and gestured to thirteen empty barrels as he coughed into his other hand.

Bilbo cleared his throat once more, swearing to himself that he would have a cold once this all was over, and lightly kicked the side of a barrel to signal its hollowness.

"Each of you need to find a barrel and get snug inside and the sooner you do the sooner we will be out of here."

This request brought on a much louder round of grumbling and protests and even Bofur seemed a little skeptical of his plan. After arguing for what felt like forever and Bilbo had a throbbing headache to now deal with, Thorin decided enough was enough.

"Silence!" His bellow quashed the din like water dousing a fire and the hiss of it echoed behind Bilbo's eyes like a game of pong.

"Now do as the burglar says; into the barrels with you."

Like they were being led by their own set of reigns, the still somewhat grumbling group of Dwarves each found their way into a barrel with little or no protest, much to Bilbo's relief.

"Now," he said and they all looked to him as he walked to a wooden lever that stuck from the floor, some wide-eyed and other's realizing that they were in a barrel for a specific reason, _what, _exactly they would soon be finding out.

Bilbo glanced them all over and wished with all of his stout Hobbit heart that this would work the way he hoped.

"Hold your breath." And with that, he turned and pulled the lever.


	2. Subsequent chaos

**So...well, first things first, I suppose. I NEVER meant for there to be almost THREE months between updates. THREE MONTHS. I know you guys realize how long that is but it just zipped by for me. I will provide my reasonings, though they just sound like excuses to me, and hope that I can be forgiven :D So I had originally planned on updating this every Sunday and the first week went well, it was Friday and this here second chapter was a little more than halfway finished. That day I decided to go hiking with my brand new puppy, Nugget (she is a cutie, but a real pain in the ass sometimes^^) anyway, long story short; she got loose, I chased her, proceeded to smack headlong into the side of a camping hut, split my head open and gave myself a concussion. I had a nice lump and headache for about two weeks, didn't even want to THINK about writing, but there _is _an upside. I have an awesome looking scar on my forehead now XD Anyway, on with the excuses. Not a few days after that, I randomly ended up moving five states down and over and let me tell you, moving is NOT fun. So I quit my job packed my crap shoved it in a car and sat for two days with my older brother in his VERY uncomfortable Scion-thingy-mcsportscar. NOT made for long car rides. Should come with a warning label at least. And THEN (yes, there's MORE,) three days after we get to the house I have to repack a suitcase and travel for 18 hours to Hawaii of all places to my _other _brother's wedding! And the one thing I didn't pack? My computer. Screw life. Two weeks there and I'm FINALLY back and mostly settled. I still hate it here though. Ok, now that I've ranted, I feel considerably better. And I do sincerely apologize about the wait- I hate waiting this long for the stories I read and never planned on doing it to other people. Alright, on with the story and I hope you guys enjoy ;)**

The water was ice cold and Bilbo could have sworn that the river was full of pins and needles as he entered it feet first and found himself suddenly submerged with no idea as to which way was up or down. He struggled to go in whichever way was brightest, his short arms and legs kicking and thrashing through the swirling dark water as it pulled him down.

His hand hit a rock and he tried to jerk away to keep any other limbs from also knocking into something solid and potentially hazardous, but despite his wishes to remain intact, the tug of the water decided that his body needed to be slammed into the rocky riverbottom anyway. Bubbles burst from his mouth as his back hit stone and his lungs screamed for the air to return to them, stronger than the throbbing of his spine or the burn in his muscles as he continued to fight the waves in a futile attempt at saving himself.

The collar of his once-white tunic pulled up and dug into the front of his neck as something grabbed hold of him and hauled him to the surface where he gasped and spluttered and wiggled around until he was settled against something rocking but solid and he clung to it like it was in dear need of a hug and he was the only pitying creature available to give it one.

Bilbo coughed harshly and his throat felt as if he had swallowed Sting and it's fragments were somehow finding their way up and out of his lungs. The Hobbit shuddered and rested his cheek against the cool, wet wood of the barrel he was clinging to, for it had been one of the Company that had brought him to surface and they were now rubbing a rough and calloused but gentle hand across his back in circles in an attempt to calm his wheezing.

Bilbo was only grateful to still be alive at this point and found his eyes quite hard to open again once they had been closed. He deemed this rather odd rocking motion to be entirely too comfortable and despite the freezing temperatures he had to fight to not all but pass out at that very moment.

The pain in his back from hitting the rocky bottom made itself known as the dwarf who had saved his life, and also turned out to be Bofur, touched it a little too hard and Bilbo yelped, wincing as he jerked up and, flailing, as he almost lost his grip on the barrel. "Careful there, Bilbo!" Bofur quickly grabbed a handful of the Hobbit's jacket and held him up as he scrabbled to regain his hold. "Don't want to lose you to the river after all of that, now do we?"

Bilbo hacked in reply and Bofur grinned, patting him on the back companionably.

"Come on," Thorin's deep voice sounded from somewhere amongst the bobbing heads of the Company, authority and confidence slowly returning to their leader as he took charge of the situation. "We must make haste before they sound the alarm. I would not doubt that they already know we are gone."

He led the group forward, running his hands through the water at the barrel's sides to propel himself on. Most of the Dwarrow had success with copying Thorin's movements but a particular few, who tended to find coordination to be one of their lesser skills, were soon bumping into rocks and other barrels, causing an adverse effect and by the third curve in the river, no one was really getting anywhere.

Bofur, (thank Mahal), was not one of them to get caught up in bouncing barrels and the toy-maker proceeded slowly and cautiously, taking into concern the hobbit that was currently in his care and clinging to the barrel that was both their lifeline. The first thing that came to his mind was tucking Bilbo into the cask with him but when he gestured for the hobbit to climb inside and attempted to move over there was hardly any room and the random motions sent them spinning and tilting and water poured inside. That quickly put a stop to that idea, for, if the barrel were to sink, Bofur would be left holding onto someone else's as well as their burglar, as he had no intentions of putting Bilbo in any one of the other's protection.

His Hobbit was unwell, that much was vastly obvious. His face had sunken in and his eyes were dull, dark circles settled beneath them, making his face appear almost translucent, it was so pale. Bofur had held in his shock when he had dragged the lad out of the water and realized that he weighed so very little. It was clear that any decent weight Bilbo had held onto up to their arrival in Mirkwood was completely gone with nothing left but skin and bone; a simple shadow of the burglar they had known before.

Bofur had shared his concern with Balin when the hobbit had been leading them through the dungeons and the oldest dwarf amongst them agreed with the same guilty hesitance it had been brought to light in. None of them wanted this to happen, for them to be safe while Bilbo was not, and had they known, had they seen their burglar more than only a handful of times during their imprisonment, they would have done more to make sure he was alright. They would have done anything they could.

But it was too late for that, and so, Bofur told himself for the hundredth time in the past ten or so minutes they had been floating along, that once they were out of danger from the elves he was never letting Bilbo out of his sight again.

As determined a promise the toy-maker had just made, fate had it's own plan for things and, it seemed, a very sardonic sense of humor to go along with it. Nothing but a quickly cut off shout of warning from someone ahead gave them any idea that just around the next corner the water picked up with a considerable amount of speed and both Bilbo and Bofur braced themselves only seconds before the rapids took them.

The Dwarrow shouted and whooped and hollered but Bilbo could only hear the ice cold water in his ears and the pounding of his heart in his throat as he struggled to hold on. Bofur grabbed hold of one of his aching wrists and Bilbo would have gladly expressed his gratitude to him if his mouth wasn't suddenly full of water and his head ducked below the surface, the white water burning his eyes and nose as he accidentally inhaled.

He surfaced again as the barrel bobbed up and he coughed the water from his lungs, trying to take a breath when the assaulting liquid was not finding it's way into his mouth, but those moments were starting to become very few and far between and, as a result, the hobbit was starting to feel rather lightheaded.

This up then down, over then under motion, had Bilbo on the verge of being physically ill before it slowed and he could finally pull himself back up and check on the Company ahead of them, as they had come to a steadier place in the river. Ahead he could hear the dwarves shouting out warning and he shook his bangs from his eyes so he could see what the commotion was about. Bilbo gaped in disbelief at the gate before them. It cut the river right off with massive stone walls that seemed carved and yet part of the canal itself, so covered in bright green moss and foliage as it was. What plummeted Bilbo's already churning stomach just happened to be the Elven guards that were to be found perched on top of said structure and were also currently aiming at the Company with shining arrows and spears in a way that could be described as somewhat intimidating. Shouted protests in Khuzdul came from all directions, mingling with the high pitched and trilling commands in Elvish as they were ordered to do something; Bilbo could not quite understand what.

And it was each races dismaying occupation with the other that left them wide open and off guard as an arrow, black as death, it seemed, struck the topmost elf in the eye, causing it to loose it's arrow which struck a barrel with a dull _thwack!,_ only inches from having gone through Nori's hand.

There was a moment of sheer silence where no one's gaze left the fallen Elf's form as he first crumpled lifelessly, then tumbled to the water below, arrow, grossly marring his once flawless face. The splash seemed to knock everyone back to reality and the remaining guards turned their attention to the new coming force of Orcs that crested the wall and rocks around them.

Bilbo blinked owl-eyed at the battle that he now, miraculously, found himself in the middle of, marveling at how he had managed to get them into such an unbelievable situation. But when the dead body of an orc hit the rocky ledge right next to him, it's sightless eyes glaring at nothing as black blood oozed from it's half-severed head and mouth full of brown rotten teeth, the hobbit just about lost it.

With a snarl he hardly believed had come from his own mouth, Bilbo unsheathed Sting and stabbed it into the nearest moving thing he could reach, which just luckily happened to be the gut of an orc. After the past month of being trapped here in this hellish place, Bilbo found his resolve to continue fighting, as complete and utterly worn as he was he had no intentions of dying or staying here any longer. No, he certainly did not.

"Kili!"

Bilbo paused at Fili's cry, whipping his head in the direction of the gate where the youngest of their Company stood at the top, fighting his way through two large orcs to get to the lever on the other side of them which, Bilbo guessed, would open the portcullis he now saw was blocking their path.

Fili pulled his arm back and hurled a blade he had procured from somewhere, directly into one of the orcs, felling him instantly, and with enough force to knock him into the stone wall and down the steps behind. Now only facing one opponent, Kili cut him down smoothly and stepped forward, hand reaching out to grasp the lever. A fair cry, high and desperate sounded and Kili paused at the sound, stopping just in time for a large black arrow to fly right past him. And then more orcs were upon them and there were too many to count, swarming like ants on a spot of honey, when all of a sudden, a tall and shimmering dark-haired elf slew the enemy right before him and Bilbo felt a pang of gratitude to the Silvan creature, if only for a brief moment before his resentment returned. Rivendell Elves he could handle, and actually enjoy the company of, but these elves, Mirkwood Elves, he would have a problem with for quite a while.

"Bilbo!"

The hobbit jerked back as a black blade found itself swinging only inches from his nose and he released his grip on Bofur's barrel, sliding down the sleek wood and into the water, it's chill once more seeping into his bones as his head went under.

He was down for not even a second before someone grabbed hold of his jacket and hoisted him up and out. He hovered above the water and reflexively kicked his feet, trying to turn and see who had hold of him. Dwalin held onto him for only a second more before tossing him (and quite gently for the large burly Dwarf, he might add) to Bombur who tucked the hobbit under his arm as if he were a sack of flour, whilst the others returned to the fighting.

Now as good the intentions they may have had, trying to keep him from harm, being tossed around was the last thing that he needed, and poor Bilbo was suddenly upending the meager contents of his stomach, and a bunch of bile, all over the large dwarf that was holding onto him. Bombur started violently and, out of reflex, dropped whatever had decided to vomit on him without really thinking about it, ultimately sending their burglar back into the water just as the portcullis began to rise.

Bilbo splashed up and coughed, unable to help it as his stomach clenched and he dry heaved for a moment, sucking down more water as he attempted to stay afloat. Several someones called his name and a few burly hands reached for him simultaneously, one that belonged to Dori grazing his shoulder right before the rocky slope gave out and the hobbit was tumbling down a waterfall and into the speeding river below.

If the Company thought that they had already been through the rapids then they were sadly mistaken. That had been a pleasant drift compared to the all out hell this water was unleashing, pulling and twisting them in every which way, as if trying to smash them into the rapidly increasing number of ravaging rocks, as slick and sharp as ice, and just as cold and deadly.

Bilbo was thrown around like a rag doll, carelessly flung about, and he no longer found a reason to fight the water, for, what could a creature as small as a hobbit do when his fate has already been decided? If he had known that this was going to be the way he would die, that he would never have been able to even do the job he had been tasked with or see his Company through to the end and ensure that they would, at least, be safe, would he have still agreed to stepping out his front door and embarking on a journey that would either change or kill him, no matter what he did?

He supposed that he would have, after all, for how could he have lived with himself knowing that he had passed this up? Leaving the Shire on the greatest adventure a Hobbit had ever been on was singlehandedly the best thing he had ever done and he knew that his mother would have been proud of his courage, and that even his father, bless his faint Baggins heart, would have found something in his son to be proud of as well. Bilbo supposed he would be meeting them soon. It had been many years since his parents had died, having fallen ill when an epidemic had passed through the Shire many years before and the sickness took them from him. Now, for some reason or another, this thought did not sadden him in the slightest. Instead, as black spots began to fill his vison and the remaining air he had been holding onto found its way from his lungs to be replaced by water, he found himself with an odd sense of peace, looking forward to seeing his parents again and being on the White Shores of the West in the Undying Lands where everything was perfect and nothing but peace and happiness mattered.

But his plan and the plans of the Company were, indeed, very different in outcome.

**/HOBBIT\**

Fili swung his head around to look behind, all concern for himself and the danger they were currently in vanishing as he watched the gate shrink into the distance, the river speeding him away from the elves and orcs and his little brother who was still in the midst of them all, either a captive once more or dead.

The young dwarf had watched with dread in the pit of his stomach and his rapidly beating heart in his throat when Kili had so recklessly jumped onto land, joining the swiftly increasing number of armed orcs without so much as a weapon to defend himself, to try and free his kin with an endgame so simply obvious to himself that he did not bother to think the whole thing through. Not that he ever did; that was Fili's job.

But the eldest son of Dis was heartrendingly helpless as his little brother fought orc after orc with a crude metal blade that Dwalin had snatched from one of the creatures and so graciously armed their youngest member with, his own concern for the lad evident as both he and Fili kept both eyes on him as much as they could. Regretfully, they had their own battles to fight and it was in the one moment that Fili found himself looking away, startled by something clattering into his barrel and hitting his foot, as what turned out to be Bilbo was tossed right by him to Bombur, that something chose to happen, and he still had no clue as to what. There was a moment where Kili had paused, his eyes locking onto something on the opposite side of the river, behind, where Fili could not see. It had saved him from a deadly black arrow, but then he had been swarmed and Fili's attention was pulled elsewhere, all of them suddenly tipping down the waterfall not a moment after.

He had called for his brother and for his uncle, but it was hard to do with a mouth full of water, when he wasn't otherwise dangerously close to capsizing his cask and tumbling in to the perilous whitewash.

Now, as he was whisked away, despair clenched his chest like a steel jawed trap and a hopeless guilt had him clenching the edges of his barrel until his knuckles were white and he felt as if he might pass out from it all. Never in his life had he and Kili been separated, not like this. Being in an unknown section of the Mirkwood dungeons with no knowledge of where his baby brother might be had been bad enough but this...if anything were to happen to him -and Mahal only knew what already had- Fili would never forgive himself; never be able to live with himself.

Wondering what might have been or already was, currently, was not viable, for the battle of the river was far from over. Fili cringed as an arrow thwacked into his barrel and he pried his eyes from the way they had come to the riverbed and shoreline, where elves and orcs battled along fiercely, tailing the dwarves in attempts to kill and capture.

The blonde, and now currently the youngest member of the party, turned at the sound of his name being called and Thorin tossed back an axe that he swiftly caught and even more swiftly brought round and hurled into the nearest orc he could see. Damn these creatures and damn the elves all to the fires of Mordor for all he cared. They were the same to him now, the fair Elven creatures blending into the haze of red that he now saw and there was suddenly no difference to him between them and the orcs that they fought.

"Fili!"

Turning once more to the sound of his name, Fili saw Bofur shouting at him and waving his arms about wildly, his hat lopsided and barely staying in it's place upon the toy-maker's soggy brow as he called out to him.

"Fili, catch him! Catch Bilbo!"

Fili frowned for a moment before a dark shape in the water caught his eye and Bofur's madcap miming clicked and suddenly made sense. He quickly plunged both arms and most of his upper torso into the water, waving his hands to and fro not unlike Bofur had just done. He could not hope to see down under so he prayed to Mahal that he had judged the distance and speed just right.

Luck must have been on their side for Fili's hand brushed something soft and he immediately latched onto it, yanking with all of his might to pull himself and their Hobbit out of the river. He gasped and tilted back, having pulled just a little too hard and Bilbo tumbled into his arms, cold and clammy and still as death. Fili released his grip on the hobbit's hair and nearly choked when it came away coated in a dark, warm, red sticky substance that clearly wasn't water.

"Th-Thorin!" He looked up, his wet bangs swinging into his eyes as he spun around in his barrel to try and locate his uncle in the fray. He spotted him, several barrels ahead and too far away to have any hope of hearing. He didn't really know what he expected him to do anyway, it wasn't like he could stop the river and tend to his friend at this very moment, so Fili thought to notify the next best person. Bofur.

"Bofur!" He turned about once more, looking behind himself to where he had last seen the toy maker. He quickly saw him, for he was already watching the lad, relief quickly turning to concern when he registered the frantic look on the younger's face and the limp form that was pressed tightly against his chest.

"Bofur!" He called again, more or less screaming to be heard over the roaring din surrounding them. "He's hurt! Bilbo's hurt!"

Fili watched as Bofur's face once again changed, only this time from concern to wide eyed horror, the stark red of their hobbit's blood clear even from a distance. But there was nothing either of them could currently do, they could only hold on and pray to Mahal that Bilbo would be okay. In the moment Fili had managed to neglect the battle around them, he suddenly found himself being stepped on by what happened to be a very intrusive, very blonde elf that hopped from dwarf to dwarf, hoping to accomplish what, he could not fathom.

Fili whipped his head around, eyes darting everywhere as he watched the surrounding battle, unable to help in any way as the damp little unmoving bundle in his arms became his main obligation.

Protect Bilbo.

And so he did. He ousted the guilt and horrors the thought of Kili being left behind brought to him an instead focused on another he considered a member of his family, swearing to himself that he would not let him go. And he didn't.

Fili ducked his head and tucked Bilbo's limp form against him and into the barrel, as much as he could fit. What felt like an eternity later but only happened to be a few minutes more of orcs and elves and arrows, they were free, still swiftly being pulled by water's strong embrace but out of the rocks and into the clear. The water smoothed out and eventually decreased in speed and the waterlogged, miserable dwarves could finally get their bearings.

Fili felt a stab of fear, now that he could get a good look at Bilbo, and he found him to be looking far worse off than he had not but a few minutes ago. The heir of Durin quickly paddled his way towards shore for it was in sight, about a dozen yards off, where the water was completely still and the rest of the Company, a currently sodden and sorry looking lot, all seemed to mentally agree on heading in that direction.

His legs jarred and nearly gave out when his barrel hit the rocky bottom and he swayed for a bit, trying to reach down and pull them along but also avoid squashing their burglar or dipping him back into the water, as that was the last thing any of them needed at the moment, least of all him. He looked up as two of the Company splashed over to his aid in the waist deep water, giving Ori and Bofur as grateful a look as he could muster, given the circumstances.

Kili. The fate of his brother seemed obvious and Fili was trying his hardest not to think about it, trying to focus on the task at hand and wait until he had his thoughts together before he took an action. But it was as if the more he tried not to think about it, the harder it pressed against his mind and distracted him from the world before him.

Ori slid his hands under Bilbo's arms and gently lifted the poor creature out as Bofur held the barrel steady. Once Ori was clear and headed back to solid ground where a few of the others were already landed did Fili finally scramble out, his foot catching on the topmost edge of wood and sending him, splashing, into the water as he pulled forward and ultimately tripped. A hand on his arm quickly had him back up, though his lower half felt cold and numb, his legs wobbling as he took the first couple of steps towards shore.

_Oh, Bilbo, please be alive..._

Believing that he was still alive was much easier said than done. There was no visible proof that the hobbit was still with them in the realm of the living, and that he hadn't passed on to whatever land or kingdom his kind swore to been made by and, thus, return to. His skin was translucent and clammy, his lips a shade of blue so deep it was almost purple. His body was completely limp, not a squirm nor a shiver save for the trickling water that still ran from his hair could be seen, droplets falling in a steady rhythm from the ends of each curl, seemingly taking their time as they left their latest victim to slide between the stones underneath them and return to their mother.

"Quickly, Ori! Lay him down here."

Bofur had found a relatively flat area that was more than only a few feet in diameter and kicked away a few stray rocks. Ori hobbled to him, slightly unbalanced, and Fili grabbed Bilbo's dangling legs to help him. They lay him down gently, his head lolling to one side, making Fili's stomach flipflop as he managed to look even more dead than before. Bofur knelt next to the lad and placed an ear on his chest, his eyes squinting and the tip of his tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he concentrated and tried to listen for a heartbeat.

Fili's stomach churned once more and he helplessly glanced around for something soft to place beneath him, subconsciously knowing that there was nothing around, short of the clothes they were wearing.

"Oi!"

Bofur's sudden exclamation made him jump and he looked back at the toy-maker, who had a grin fit to split his skull in place, and he adjusted the hat on his head as he straightened up.

"He's livin', sure as daylight itself." His joy seemed to evaporate into the air, gone with the true weight of the situation, almost as quickly as the childlike relief had brought it on. The steadily growing pool of blood that surrounded his head like a demonic halo did nothing to settle their discomfort or give them hope of any kind.

"I-I'll go find Oin," Ori stammered, his eyes as round as they'd ever seen them, and before any prompting was needed, the boy ran off to the others a few yards down, who were, for the most part, out of the water.

Fili knelt in his now vacant spot next to Bilbo's head, opposite Bofur and the two exchanged a glance, Fili quickly looking away at the grief in his friend's eyes. For sometimes eyes spoke more than words ever could.

_This doesn' look too good, lad._

_I know it doesn't. But he'll be alright, it's just...a head wound. They bleed more than they are serious._

_Aye, but it's a head wound nonetheless._

Every one of them knew that Bofur's experience with head wounds was nothing to be laughed at, the axe still embedded in Bifur's head was everyday proof of that. If there was one thing that the toy-maker took seriously, it was a good knock to the head, and judging from the amount of blood, this had been a fairly good one. Even if Bilbo did wake from this, who knew if he'd be the same person? The same cautious, overly-conscience, pessimistic hobbit that they all loved so dearly?

Fili mentally scoffed and chided himself. Of course he would, it wasn't all that bad. He really needed to quit being so pessimistic himself and be rid of all the worst-case scenarios traipsing into his mind like they owned the place. Bilbo would be fine and they would get his brother back; no matter what.

"Out'a the way, lad. Move over."

The well-aged, grizzled hand of Oin brushed his shoulder, and he moved to kneel at Bilbo's head so the healer had a place to look him over.

"Now let me see..." The elder dwarf placed the back of his hand to Bilbo's forehead, then to the base of his jaw. He felt the backside of his neck and peered into his sightless eyes, muttering to himself all the while. A shadow behind him had Fili looking up at his uncle, who had gathered round with the rest of the Company, though he stood farther back, only casting them a glance filled with emotions his nephew could not decipher before turning away to look back along the river from which they came, his face now hidden in shadow. Fili swallowed hard and ducked his head, staring at his hands, folded together on his lap. He knew what Thorin was thinking of. Who he was thinking of. And at this very moment, he chose not to. He just couldn't.

"Well," Oin clucked his tongue in the back of his throat as everyone looked to him, hope in their eyes as they wrung their hands and bit their lips in anticipation.

"He's sure as anythin', ain't gonna be waking up any time soon. An' it's always hard to tell, with a head wound, how things'l turn out." He tore the end of his tunic off in a long strip and, gently lifting Bilbo's head with the immediate help of Bofur, began to wrap it around the wound.

"Thorin," He called out. The only acknowledgment he received from the young king was a slight tilt of his head in their direction, and he supposed that was as good as it was going to get for the time being.

"What's the plan, laddie? This'un needs medicine and proper bandaging if he's ever hoping to recover. We need to find a place to resupply and rest."

Balin walked over to, and placed a hand on Thorin's shoulder, muttering something only he could hear.

After a moment, his thick-browed uncle cleared his throat, "How many days, Balin?"

The old scribe pulled out a soggy piece of paper that had somehow managed to stay in his trousers pocket and peered at it closely, the loss of his eyeglasses a great hindrance to him.

With a sigh he refolded it and put it away, sending a sad look to their still unconscious companion. "We have time."

Thorin took a deep breath, then seemed to deflate, his shoulders drooping as he turned at last from the river to his waiting Company, their eyes searching him for answers.

"Two minutes," The barking authority he had seemed to momentarily lose was back and he gazed at them with his almost glare, though, halfhearted they knew it to be, before turning round and facing the lake where their home of Erebor lay not far beyond the mist.

"You have two minutes to finish. We head out and keep moving. The city of Dale is not far, but first we must find a way across the lake."

No one grumbled. No one protested. Instead they worked to bundle their burglar as best they could and get ready to move on.

Fili stood from his position on the rocks, ignoring the sting in his knees and ankles, and he turned to look back at the calmly flowing river that had swept them away to freedom and away from certain death, be it by orc or by age, it was death nonetheless. All, save one.

"I will find you, Kili." he whispered to himself, ignoring the sting of tears that filled his eyes, but did not let them fall. "I swear it."

He wouldn't give up on him; he couldn't. The bond between brothers was indescribable, and now, it was like he had lost half of himself. But he knew that Kili was not dead. _That_ he would have felt in his heart. And if he had to storm the Kingdom of Mirkwood, if he had to kill every _tree-shagger_ that came between them, with or without aid, so be it. For that is what brothers do. They never give up on each other.

But for right now, their Company needed him. And he wouldn't let Kili down now by abandoning them. Bilbo needed medical attention and Fili knew that was what was most important right now. Because the first chance he has to go and get his brother back, he will. Damn anyone who stands in his way.

**Not how I initially planned it but this story seems to be going down a road of it's own. Don't worry- this is all about Bilbo- I just have an itching need for subplots so I added a little twist that just seemed to slip right in. I'll be updating soon, I promise! Two weeks tops! Thanks for reading!**

**E.T.**


	3. Oh, to Turn Back Time

**Hey guys! Well, here it is, and I'm sorry it took so long again. Just ignore me when I say I'll update within a certain amount of time because obviously it's not going to happen. So, this chapter was difficult to write and I'm glad it's over. Now on to the fun stuff! Thank you to EVERYONE who has followed, favorited, and reviewed my story! It's so much more popular than I ever thought it was going to be and I love all of you for it! Thank you so much! **

**I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's definitely slowed down but it's the calm before the storm ;)**

**Now, onward!**

"_Bilbo! Bilbo, it's time for supper!"_

_Turning at the sound of his mother's voice, the young hobbit grinned and waved goodbye to his friends before he took off sprinting up the trail that led to Bag End, his little furry feet kicking up dirt as he happily ran home, intent on telling his mother all of the adventures he and Hamfast had gone on today and eager to see the bright smile he knew would appear on her face when he spoke of such things._

"_There you are," she grinned softly as he came around the bend, the dying light of the day casting her barely wrinkled face in an orange glow and setting her Took-red hair on fire, making it dance like the sparks in the ever-lit hearth of their home._

"_Mommy, mommy!" he cried, his own grin splitting his face as he gripped her apron in his dirt-caked hands, gazing wide-eyed up at her as she lovingly ruffled his hair, absentmindedly plucking a twig from his disheveled curls as he spoke with most haste._

"_Mama, you'll never believe what Hamfast and I did today! We went into the forest and found a fairy circle! But don't worry, we stayed away so they wouldn't steal us, and we hid behind some bushes and, and, guess what happened?"_

_Belladonna laughed, her voice ringing like bells on the countryside, and she gave him a quick kiss atop his head before turning him to the door that stood open behind her._

"_I will, darling, but first you must get cleaned up for supper. If your father sees you looking like you had a tussle with the pigs, he'll near have a heart attack!" The idea of his father's face, should he see his reckless son dusted in dirt as he was, had them both giggling into their hands as they walked up the porch._

"_Alright, mama," Bilbo agreed, silently bouncing with excitement as he hopped away from his mother's hip and up the steps into their smial. "But wait until I tell you about the bear."_

"_Bear?!"_

**/HOBBIT\**

It had been two days. Two days with no results. Not a sound, nor movement from their burglar. Not a sight or word from Kili. Nothing. It was driving him mad.

Ori scribbled another ending to another entry in his book, having acquired a new one since they had left Mirkwood and was now intently trying to remember as much detail as he could of their journey so far. He could not help the nagging feeling that he was missing something dire, something that was very important, something that could be found in his original book, and the fact that no matter how much he paced or muttered or scrawled drafts on spare parchment he could not for the life of him remember what it was, and it had him fit to screaming.

Not that he did, of course. He could only imagine how the Company would react if he acting on his feelings, tearing at his hair, kicking and shouting at whatever-or _who_ever- happened to be nearby, cursing them in all of the ways he had heard Dwalin curse the elves when he had never so much as uttered an oath of any kind in all of his 130 years.

He knew in some part of the back of his mind that he was being childish. But the restlessness, the inability to do _anything _except sit and hope that Bilbo would somehow miraculously wake or that Kili, even more impossibly, would knock on the door and announce his incredible escape from Mirkwood was eating away at his sanity. Ori had never been one to protest or complain, Dori had taught him better than that, but it had been different when they were held captive. Being in the dungeons meant that they literally could do nothing; they didn't have a choice. But here and now, in Laketown as they were, he felt that they should be doing more than sitting around and _hoping. _They should have gone back for Kili, the loss of his close friend hit him harder than he had any intention of letting on and it infuriated him that nothing was being done about it. He knew that going back and storming the castle sounded like a good idea, now that they had weapons, but at the same time it was beyond impractical. They would all be slaughtered. But if they could sneak out then surely they could find a way to sneak back in.

But that hadn't been them, really. It had been their Burglar, and he was hardly in any sort of shape to help them now.

Perhaps he was just being stupid. Always self conscious and timid to say the least, Ori never spoke his thoughts, least of all before Thorin. He did not want their king to see him as a liability in any way and he thought that when he spoke it always came out wrong and ended up with him pulling the short straw on himself, setting a path for embarrassment and a shushing reprimand from Dori. But now, as he watched what he thought was a group of untouchable warriors hunker down in the protection of a once great people, he felt as if he were in the company of complete strangers.

Fili had gone eerily quiet since the barrel ride in the rapids, an empty, almost haunted look filling his eyes that had not so long ago shone with joy and mischief, just like his brother's. Ori could only imagine what it would be like if it had been one of his brothers that had taken the fall back there, but he stopped short every time he did, the stabbing pang at just the _thought _that filled his heart was enough for him not to linger on the idea. He had no wish to be in Fili's shoes.

Now if the young scribe leaned back a few inches from his seat by the window, he could see the young heir in the next room over, monotonously sharpening one of his new throwing knives in exactly the same position he had been in for the last four hours since he had awoken that morning. Ori vaguely remembered seeing him in that same spot the previous night when he had retired up the stairs for bed and wondered if the lad had moved at all.

When one of his friends found themselves in a bind or miserable in any way, Ori could not help the guilt that encased him, feeling as if he could have done something to prevent it. Even though he acknowledged that none of this was his fault alone, it was simply the way he was. That was what made him Ori.

He sighed and looked back out the window at the gray town below, watching uninterestedly as the people of Dale bustled about in their daily business and silently wishing that, against all of the odds before them, one day their problems would go back to being as trivial as fetching the days water or stoking the forge fire and wondering what their mothers or wives had whipped up for dinner that night when they returned home.

His eyes pulled away as a bout of homesickness stirred his stomach, the sudden shimmer of a short elven knife catching his gaze and restocking his pot of hopelessness as another wave of guilt crashed gracelessly into him. Against his feelings he reached out and touched the finely woven leather sheath that covered the fine steel of Bilbo's blade, gently grasping the weapon and drawing it to him, almost hugging it as he began to fight the sudden sting behind his eyes.

Their hobbit hadn't made nary a sound or motion since before they had reached the shore in their barrels, and any hope he had that he would was fading away, going in greater amounts with the mist that flowed from the city every morning to the mountain and beyond. Oin held little hope, though he tried to put on a smile and and tell them that all he needed was time, when in truth nothing short of a miracle would bring their hobbit back to them. They could all see it, the crease in the elder Dwarf's eyes and the wrinkle to his brow as he avoided giving direct answers, tried to spare them any more grief, because they surely didn't need it.

When Ori had first met Bilbo, he hadn't been entirely sure what to think. Their burglar seemed a very respectable and put together being, not at all the fierce and nimble fighter Gandalf had claimed him to be. And that had been perfectly alright with Ori. Even though Bilbo had seemed a bit out of place amongst them, the young dwarf could relate with him, not feeling at all like he himself belonged there either. But soon, Bilbo had more than secured his place in the Company, everyone was rather fond of the gentle creature, even Thorin, though he would never admit it. Bilbo and himself had been quick friends, the hobbit taking interest in his sketches and writing and Ori appreciating his taste for fine poetry and knowledge of the great writers and stories of the second age.

He had become a part of their family, wiggling his way into each of their hearts, and now, if he never woke, Ori had no idea what they would do. They would be short a burglar and their quest forfeit, not that he cared about that in the slightest, to be honest. He would gladly give his share of any treasure he might have had if it meant bringing Bilbo back. But he couldn't. All he could do was sit and wait, just like everyone else. And wish that everything would soon be back the way that it was. He could only hope.

**/HOBBIT\**

"_Son, how many times must this happen? Have you learned nothing?"_

_Bilbo ducked his head, hiding the shame that burned on his cheeks and in his eyes behind his dripping wet hair, his gaze taking in the intricately laced patterns on the tablecloth before him._

"_Well?"_

_He bit his lower lip, unable to find his voice, trapped somewhere behind the lump in his throat as it was, to respond to his father's reprimanding questions. He knew he shouldn't have done it, he really did. But it was too late to regret his decisions for they had already been acted out, as infantile and imprudent as they had been, he should have expected an equal reaction and consequence._

"_This is unbelievable, Bilbo!" The young hobbit, barely out of childhood, winced as his father threw up his hands in exasperation, pacing along the opposite side of the table and looking as if he were about to blow a gasket._

_Bungo Baggins was a kind soul, always well put together and respectable in every way imaginable. He rarely angered and had never had a dispute of any kind with anyone, save the Sackville-Baggins', but they rightfully did not count. Bilbo loved his father and couldn't have asked for anyone better, but he was a Baggins and, therefore, took pride in a well adorned smial that had everything in its place and inhabitants that held the same drive for perfection and order as himself. And at that very moment, Bilbo wished with everything he had in his stout little heart, that a Baggins he was not._

_His parents always said that he took after the Took side of the family, purposefully finding 'adventure' and danger wherever he could and diving headlong into it. What was so wrong with that? If no one but himself got hurt in the end, then why did it matter?_

_A soft towel wrapped around his shoulders and he looked up into a pair of bright green eyes, an exact replica of his own, smiling sadly down at him. He swallowed, gripping the edges of the towel and looking away from his mother to his father, upset at the sorrow he had seen on her face, wishing he could just make it all go away._

"_I didn't mean any trouble, father," he whispered hoarsely, "It was just a game."_

"_A _game_?" Bungo looked incredulously wilted as he all but sputtered, his face turning several interesting shades of scarlet._

"_How is stealing a game to you?"_

_Bilbo ducked his head again, more than ready to get a punishment and be sent to bed. He couldn't take the condescending berating anymore._

"_Look at me when I'm talking to you, Bilbo."_

_He reluctantly pulled his eyes up and met his father's face, his heart hitting his stomach at the disappointment laced in the slight wrinkles of his forehead and in his brown eyes as he looked down at his only child._

"_What are we going to do with you...?"_

_Bilbo swallowed as Bungo's voice came out, barely a whisper, as if to himself. The last thing that he wanted was to continue to disappoint his parents- they had never done anything to deserve his recklessness- they had been kind and loving and this was how he repayed them._

"_I'm sorry," he said, unable to keep the tears from his eyes any longer. "I wont do it again. I promise."_

"_Darling," his mother had seated herself beside him and now pulled his face to her chest, wrapping her slender arms around his narrow shoulders. He hugged her tightly, unable to help the tears that spilled down his cheeks and onto her dress, a few tiny drops compared to the damp his soaking clothes left behind._

_Bungo sighed, unable to keep mad any longer. "It isn't us that deserve an apology. Farmer Maggot is very unhappy, how you and Hamfast managed to destroy almost half of his entire crop I can hardly believe." he couldn't help but sound somewhat awed._

_Belladonna pulled back and wiped the tears from his cheeks with gentle hands, making a face as a tangle of mud and grass fell from his ear and onto her lap._

"_What I can't believe is how you ended up with all of those vegetables, and a pony, in the marshes."_

_He grinned sheepishly, but only for a moment. His childhood was over. He was barely into his teens but that didn't matter, so long as his parents were happy. It saddened him a bit, and he knew that Hamfast wouldn't be pleased in the slightest, but if he strived to do as his father wished, to _be _how he wanted him to, then perhaps they would all be the better for it. No more adventures, no more hiking or camping in the woods, no more teasing the hobbit-lasses or climbing fruit trees for lunch. Time to stop chasing fairies and embrace his studies- he knew that was what they wanted- and if it made them happy again, then he would be happy to. Maybe not right now, but he would. And perhaps one day, when he's a more decent fellow and knows the world as it should be, when he actually remembers to take his handkerchief with him instead of leaving it on the end table as he always managed to do, maybe then he would go on the greatest adventure of a lifetime. But as of right now, he decided to finally put such things from his mind, and leave those thoughts for the later years to come. It was time for him to stop being a Took, and start being a Baggins._

**/HOBBIT\**

A cold late autumn breeze whipped fiercely through the houses of Dale, twirling its way around corners and down alleys, bringing the first chill of the coming winter to the people that grimly prepared for it every year. Winter on the lake was entirely too different from a winter in Eriador or the lands further west, where a snowfall and freeze were frequent enough that the people, be they man or dwarf, knew to save harvest and reinforce their houses on the fields and in the mountains. Supplies were not too hard to come by, if you knew where to look and how to hunt. That was how the city of Dale differed from the rest of Arda. Once a great place of wealth and trade before the dragon, Smaug set to destroy the city many decades ago, Laketown was now nothing but a shadow of its former glory, its walls as well as its people a mockery to all that it had been, and all that it still should be.

And with winter quickly coming in, the signs of a harsh and ghastly season ahead were being seen all around. As it was, if you did not own a larger boat- as most people here surprisingly did not- as simple fishers or bargemen did, then you had no way to leave the city for food or supplies. And even with a boat, you were still hard pressed to get past the Master of Laketown and his slimy henchmen, who scratched and dug for any and all reasons to not let the people in or out. So you pushed through, making do with what you had and expecting no more. That was how the city got through. But things came a little bit easier for Bard the bowman and his family. And while he was able to sufficiently provide for his children, he saw his ability as one to help as many people as he could. Constantly giving and asking for naught, his favor with the people was on higher standards than he ever could have asked. But while there are those who wished him long life and good fortune, there were those who wished him none but ill. Currently holding a spot at the top of the Lakemaster's least favorites list, Bard found himself constantly being followed by the tyrant's guards, making his life a hell of a lot harder to move on with. And now his house was being watched. That was the last time he helped any sort of suspicious strangers sneak in anywhere on his boat, no matter how good the pay.

And the pay had been quite substantial, if he did say so himself. His well-worn and chilled hand absentmindedly clasped the well-sized bag of silver coins in his jacket pocket that would be sure to help see his family through this winter and the seasons following. The problem was though, with the constant eyes following his every move, he had to be careful of when and where he decided to spend such money. Dwarvish coins did not regularly show up out of the blue here- not any more- and he could only claim a few without drawing a plethora of superfluous questions that he'd rather not have to answer.

Thankfully, his worries would stop there. Now that the Lakemaster has welcomed _Thorin Oakenshield_, and his band of misfits, it was no concern of his what happened to them. For their sake and for the people of the town, he sincerely hoped that they would never reach the Lonely Mountain.

But as it was, he could not help the sliver of guilt that found its way into his heart at the thought of the little wounded creature they had amongst them. It had not been a dwarfling, or at least he did not think it was. It looked nothing like the rest, his smaller stature was much more lean, though obviously malnourished as he was. His large feet had been dusted in hair where his face had none- his skin looked soft and smooth as that of a newborn babe's. The poor, well, whatever he was, had been seriously injured and Bard could not find it in himself to turn them away and refuse to assist- he looked nothing but a child! And when he had first seen him, his own children had come to mind, what if his little Tilda, his youngest daughter, had been injured and no one would aid him? He tended to stay away from such thoughts, but at that moment he could not. And so, he had helped them.

Where they were now was obvious, the Master had announced their welcome and placed them in one of his large numerous houses that bordered the town, away from the grime and slums that most of the city had turned into. What they were doing was another wonder entirely. Bard had an itch to find out what their plan was, to make sure they would not awaken the dragon and sign all of their fates for them. He had hoped to talk some sense into them, but the line of Durin proved just as foolhardy and stubborn as the tales of their lineage told. But neither hide nor hair had been seen of them since they had first arrived.

So for now, all he could do was wonder. Wonder and hope.

**/HOBBIT\**

"_Happy birthday, Bilbo!"_

_Confetti and balloons in as many colors as the sunset sky on a summers day rained down on the head of a just turned 33 years old Bilbo Baggins, his eyes the size of his mother's finest dinner plates and his mouth a tiny 'o' shape beneath them. He started so violently at the sudden roar of his family and friends that, with a terrified squawk, he dropped the several large books he had been holding directly onto his foot which, in turn, caused him to hop backwards with a howl, knocking his head on the doorframe he had just passed through, sending himself stumbling backwards through the doorway and gracelessly tumbling down the stone steps of the front walk where he landed in a heap on the ground by their mailbox._

_The world spun in ways it probably shouldn't have and there was Hamfast, spinning right along with it, a large stupid grin across his face as he peered down at his best friend from the sky above._

"_Sorry, Bilbo," he didn't sound sorry at all. "Though you have to admit, you've always been easy to startle."_

_He held out a hand and Bilbo took it, chuckling despite himself as he was lifted from the ground and onto his feet._

"_Yes, well," he cleared his throat and brushed off the back of his trousers, a slight pink tinging his cheeks. "When one walks in on a 'surprise party', they more often than not, end up being surprised."_

_Hamfast let out a guttural laugh, smacking Bilbo on the back, making him wince._

"_Come on, Baggins," the portly gardener's assistant gestured up to the hobbit hole where he could see a bunch of smiling faces poking out of the doorway and windows down to see them. He thought he saw his mother's face in there somewhere and immediately knew who had been behind it all, from the twinkle in her eyes and the shameless grin she wore so well. And he also thought he saw the round pink face of Polly Boggy-hillocks, framed in bouncing blond curls like ringlets made of the finest gold in all of Middle earth, and his face was suddenly pinched as if in pain, scarlet seeping from his toes to his head._

"_Hamfast," he hissed in a very loud whisper. "What is _Polly _of all hobbits doing here?"_

_The rotund Gamgee turned to him in confusion, taking on a wary look when he saw the state Bilbo was now in. He didn't know if he was going to explode or strangle him._

"_Well of course we invited Polly," he explained slowly and cautiously, as if he were talking to an armed simpleton. "I know you fancy her and all and she was more than happy to come-"_

"_I do NOT fancy her!" Bilbo all but screamed, sending Hamfast scurrying away to hide behind Belladonna._

_There was silence from all that was gathered in the doorway and Bilbo somehow managed to turn an even deeper shade of red. Someone coughed and when he felt as if he might just explode from the tension after all, Belladonna had shooed everyone back inside to start some party games._

_Bilbo released his breath with a deep woosh and deflated onto the bench that lay a little closer to the door that still hung open, waiting for him to enter it and join the now laughing party goers inside._

_Just a moment, he told himself he would sit. To collect his thoughts. He rubbed the nicely developed goose-egg on the back of his head and couldn't keep in the hiss that whistled from his lips at the burning soreness of it._

"_Bilbo?"_

_With yet another start, the poor Baggins boy 'eeped' and turned to whomever had decided that he hadn't had enough of a fright for the day. He swore he would keel over from a heart attack before he reached the tender age of 50._

_But when he saw the delicately petite form of Polly hesitantly making her way over, he straightened up, horrified at the sound that had left his lips not but a few moments before. This lass made him flustered in ways he did not hardly understand._

"_He-hello, P-Polly," his eye twitched at the stutter in his voice and he cleared his throat, sliding over as far as the bench would allow when she made to sit beside him._

"_Here." She held out a cloth tied with twine and he took it from her, avoiding all eye and skin contact he possibly could._

"_Thank you," he said after a moment, not to forget his manners. "It's a lovely birthday gift."_

_The young lass frowned, her rounded nose crinkling in a way that made his heart ricochet around his chest and he thought he might possibly throw up from the feeling._

"_That's not...it's ice for your head, Bilbo. Your mother asked me to bring it to you."_

_For a moment all he could do was stare at the bag in his hands before the words she had spoken actually registered in his mind. He blinked once, twice, before he realized just how stupid he must have looked._

"_O-oh! Of course!" he rubbed the back of his neck, wincing as he once again touched the knot that was there. "You must think me a fumble-footed fool," he managed to laugh, placing the cool ice pack on the back of his cranium._

_The bubbling giggle that slipped past her hand had Bilbo blinking at her owlishly, and Polly waved off his remark, blonde curls bouncing._

"_Of course not, Bilbo. You're one of the most respectable hobbits I have ever met, surely not as foolish as you think. Although," her smile turned teasing, "a little fumble-footed you may be."_

_She spun up in a flurry of her skirts and bobbed back towards his smial, leaving him a gaping speechless mess._

_She turned back once more, a hand on the doorframe as she peeked back around, and she batted one large doe-brown eye at him before disappearing back into the fray._

_Bilbo shut his open mouth abruptly with a click of his teeth and blinked rapidly. A goofy grin the likes of which would put old Hamfast to shame dimpled his cheeks and he stood up, following drunkenly to find Polly and join the party, all embarrassment forgotten on the bench along with his slowly melting ice pack._

**/HOBBIT\**

It was all his fault. He had killed their burglar. No one would ever forgive him for this, not Gandalf, not Ori, none of them. Not even himself. How could he? Bilbo had done nothing but help them and now, all of this guilt and shame and utter _despair _that everyone was feeling crashed into him harder than the rapids, and most of it was his to begin with. If he hadn't let go, hadn't let Bilbo fall back into the water, then none of this would have happened. None of it. If he had just held on a little longer and worried less about those that could very well take care of themselves then his hobbit would still be here, awake and not in the other room...dying.

He had tried so hard not to cry, tried so hard for the past two days, really ever since they had washed up on that rocky embankment and pulled the lifeless form of their once chipper and optimistic hobbit from Fili's barrel. He had tried, but like he had failed their hobbit, he also failed at that too.

Wiping his soggy mustache with the bottom of his soggier tunic, Bofur quietly sobbed to himself, sitting on the roof of the building that they had been given as he had for the past several hours. He blew his nose on one of the earflaps of his hat, the only part of it that was still dry and ignored the ever present numb tingle that ran through his backside. He had spent more time sitting up here than he had in the damned house as it was. He couldn't take being inside, for every person he saw only reminded him of what he was trying so hard to forget. What he knew they all blamed him for.

He didn't cry in self pity, Bofur didn't believe he deserved it, but he cried for their little hobbit and at just how _unfair _it all was for Mahal's sake! Bilbo had done _nothing _to warrant this, he was only a small creature thrown into a world that proved too big and it's challenges to be much bigger. But that hadn't sent him right ways round and trecking home, no, their stout little burglar took on those challenges in as courageously a fumble-footed way that only he could manage to do. He stuck through to the end, no matter what came their way, he embraced it and did his best.

He saved them from a quick and painful demise by the spiders and long and slow death in the Mirkwood dungeons, all without fail. Bofur wished he had left them to rot, seeing the state of Bilbo after their escape. Even Dwalin had been speechless at the sight of the once rotund fellow that had always seemed to carry a pinkish honey glow under his skin. Bilbo had been nothing but skin and bones when they had gotten him out of his wet clothes in Lake-town, his flesh a sickly greenish pallor akin to the dead fish for sale in the markets below. Bofur had bitten his lips when Dwalin suddenly took his leave, each muttered curse from the tattooed dwarf like a blow to the toy-maker's already fractured heart. Ori had burst into tears, babbling incoherently as Dori led him away from the scene. Bofur could only watch as Oin and Balin looked him over, the ringing in his ears too loud to understand Fili and Kili's concerned chatter as they pestered their uncle for answers he knew he could not give. Nor did he hear the hollowness in Thorin's words as he sent everyone from the room, his eyes glassy and haunted.

No, Bofur did not see or hear anything. Nothing but the wide and terrified green eyes that looked to him as they disappeared under the water, a horror filled, petrified plea the last thing he had seen in them. And the only thing he heard was the shrill cry of his name, twisted into a strangled garble as the river took away the young helpless voice of someone not ready to die.

**/HOBBIT\**

_A high-pitched squeak, barely audible despite the echo, was sent through the empty smial located at the end of Bagshot Row as the round green door was slowly pushed open, and then gently shut._

_The smallish form that had just entered did not bother to shake the snow from his shoulders onto the doormat, nor to take his hat and scarf off and hang them on the post right beside it. Instead, on this very cold, very dark winter night, he found no reason to partake in remaining tidy or respectable in any way and so, after standing just inside for a very long while, staring into the dark before him, his green eyes haunted and without their natural spark, he finally trudged to his room, slowly dragging his feet across the floor._

_He had left a puddle of water in his wake but did not seem to notice. He did not seem to notice anything. If anyone else had been around to see him, they would not have recognized him as Bilbo Baggins, the young hobbit that was full of love and life. All they would have seen was an empty shell of someone they once knew, someone with nothing left in the world._

_Bilbo dropped his soaking clothes to the floor, shivering as he slid beneath his bedcovers, not taking a moment to stoke the fire or put on something warm, not caring if he got sick. Maybe if he fell ill then Eru would take him away, and he could be with his parents again. For the Sky-Father had given them wings, taken them to the clouds before it was their time and left their child alone in a cold cruel world that held no sympathy or compassion for those on their own._

_He honestly had no idea what to do. It had all happened so fast. Not the morning before last had he been chatting away with his mother, taking turns with her as they read from one of her favorite fairy-books and his father hummed by the roaring fire. The winter was harsh this year, you did not step outside of your smial for long unless you wanted to lose your nose, and Bilbo had no intention._

_But when his mother had developed a cough by lunch and a fever by supper, he knew that something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong._

_His father was pale and Bilbo knew was fighting the same sickness, but Bungo said it was only a cold and would pass. When his mother began coughing up blood that same night, he and his father bundled up as best they could, taking her to the Healing House. From there it had all gone to hell._

_He had heard of the sickness that had come to the Shire. It seemed to have started in Frogmorton and quickly worked its way over to the West Farthing, sweeping through Tuckborough all of the way to Michel Delving, swarming everywhere in between. None of the hobbits knew what it was or how it had gotten there, but it had taken many lives, and left many hobbits grieving. And it had left Bilbo all alone in the world._

_But he did not cry. He couldn't. Even though that was the one thing he wanted most right now, the only thing he asked for, the tears would not fall. And so he sobbed, tearlessly, the broken and aching wails of an orphaned child heard by no one as they seeped into the walls of Bag End, the echo of his cries the sound that rings in your ears if you just happen to be there alone, even on this very day, and you could only wish for silence._

**/HOBBIT\**

Maybe if he had held onto the halfling just a while longer, if he hadn't tossed him to Bombur just so he could just be dropped, then perhaps none of this would have happened.

But Dwalin, the second son of Fundin did not work in 'maybes' or 'what ifs'. He worked with his fists and his axes, Ukhlat and Umraz, for they were simple in shape, wide in blade, and heavy in head- and they came across blunt and harsh; something he could easily relate to. He did not hope for good things to happen, he did not wait for the universe to balance out the problems of the world, he did what needed doing for himself and his kin, making no point in relying on anyone else when it came to such things. He trusted action and reaction.

So one could imagine just how this particularly gruff and sometimes wild dwarf felt at his Company's current situation and his helplessness to fix it. It wasn't as if he could turn back time and stop himself from releasing Bilbo, to have changed his decision to toss the halfling out of harms way and have tucked him into his barrel instead, or something of the like. No, he could not change a damned thing, and the fact infuriated him.

The hobbit had undoubtedly found a soft spot in the hardened warrior's heart, and seeing that he did indeed have a heart to find such a spot was a tedious task in and of itself, let alone finding a place in it. Their burglar was something special and had become one of them soon enough. And while Dwalin may seem like he cared not for the things in life that he might see as trivial, such as love and caring and feelings, he did in fact have a great sense of loyalty and honor that he held very true and very dear. The moment Bilbo had saved their king from the Pale Orc Dwalin had held for him a higher sense of respect and knew that he had found his place amongst them. It had nothing to do with his slightly stuffy tendency to shy away from the 'messier' happenings that involved too much dirt or caused too much sweat. How he had first sat atop his pony like he had never seen such a creature before in his life, nor how he had the overall description of 'adorable', or the dwarf's secret weakness for such things. It had absolutely nothing to do with that at all.

Dwalin was the younger brother, Thorin being the closest thing he had to kin his age. Frerin had been a little brother to him before his passing and he felt a similar relationship with the hobbit, who obviously needed more protecting than any Durin ever had.

Ori had Nori and Dori, Kili had Fili- everyone here had someone. Everyone but Bilbo. And though he would be hard pressed to admit it, Dwalin had silently accepted it as his responsibility to keep an extra eye out for Master Baggins, to quietly count for 13 and not 12 when they regrouped. Never had he voiced his growing concern for the hobbit to anyone, not his brother nor even Thorin, with whom he had no secrets. Bilbo had been deteriorating ever since they had passed through the Misty Mountains, ever since they had descended the Carrock and set back into the wild. And in his current state, the burly dwarf finally realized just how much.

Dwalin did not work in 'what ifs' or 'maybes'. He worked with his axes and his fists and his heart. And if those ever failed him, then the world had become something he no longer knew.

**/HOBBIT\**

"_...at your service."_

_Bilbo gaped at the large dwarf on his front porch, more than slightly baffled, and proceeded to quickly tie the sash on his robe, frightfully aware of how shambled he must look, and in front of a guest! As unexpected as he might be._

"_Uh, Bilbo Baggins...at yours." He frowned. "Do we know each other?"_

_The little hobbit held back an 'eep' as the very burly, very _intimidating, _and entirely unexpected guest clomped through his doorway like he had been invited in, nearly knocking Bilbo over._

"_No." Was the only answer he seemed willing to provide at this very moment, giving Bilbo an odd look, as if it would have been strange had they known one another._

"_Where is it laddie? Is it down here?" The balding dwarf shed his travel cloak and tossed it in a corner, looking around and down the halls before turning to his (very befuddled and honestly frightened) host, as if he expected him to give an answer to a question he did not understand._

"_I-is what down where?" He stuttered._

"_Supper," the dwarf turned from him and meandered down the hall like he owned the place. "He said there'd be food, and lots of it."_

_This caused Bilbo, already puzzled enough for one night, to frown as this mystery guest became even more of an enigma._

"_H-he said?" He could not help but sound affronted. Who was this 'He' and why was he sending a dwarf to his house for _food? _"Who said?"_

_Had he known that this was only the beginning of many unexpected guests who would hold a very unexpected party, he might have barred his front gate, locked the doors and windows and called it a night. But he did not know. And a good thing he hadn't, for this night had been the start of a wonderful adventure, the outcome of which was still yet to be determined._

**/HOBBIT\**

Three days. Three _very _long days in which nothing had happened. He was sick of this town, sick of this house, sick of these people. But they could not leave, not until Bilbo was well. They were so close to the mountain, so close to Erabor and he could hardly stand it. They still had several days until Durin's Day was upon them, but Mahal if he was damned to not walk in the front door if it meant they did not have to linger here any longer!

But Bilbo was sick, and gravely so. They had come this far and he would not abandon his burglar now. Not after everything he had done for them. He had known from the moment he had seen Bilbo run to his cell, keys in hand, that there was something wrong with him. He had been much too pale, his shoulders much to thin under the King's calloused hands. Why, he was sure that if he wanted to, he could have snapped the Hobbit's spine with one hand and called it a day! Not that he would have done anything even relative to that- never would he dare.

And like he now did every morning, he mentally berated himself for not doing something about it as soon as he was free. He should have protected their burglar, he knew that something bad was bound to happen, but his Dwarvish pride had held his mouth shut. He had heard the others murmuring amongst each other as they followed the quick and silent feet down to the cellars. They were obviously just as concerned as he was, but Bilbo would have no interruption, no one talking.

Thorin should have known. Should have given up his own barrel for the one that had saved them all. But he had told himself that the small yet sturdy creature would be alright for just a little while longer. He had never been so wrong.

And now they might not have a burglar, and the thought saddened him more than it had any right to. How had such a person crept into their lives and become one of the Company? How had he fit so perfectly amongst them that at times he had to remind himself- secretly of course for he would never mention such a thing out loud- that this was indeed a Hobbit, and not one of his own people?

Thorin found it quite hard to understand, for such a thing had never occurred to him before the possibility of losing Bilbo appeared, frighteningly close, looming like a storm cloud that was waiting for the right moment to pour a douse everyone below in an ice cold chill they could not escape.

But the kingdomless King knew that to ponder on the things he regretted was not a very wise decision, for he could not turn back time and change the things that had happened. He could not go back and save Bilbo, nor rescue Kili from the orcs and elves that had either captured or killed him.

It was clear that losing Kili had effected him deeply, for what else was to be expected? His nephew, reckless and courageous, so full of life and wonder, had been taken from him. And he was afraid that if there was nothing he could do, he would lose Fili as well, for there was never one brother without the other. His heir had hardly spoken after they had been settled in this house. He had done all that he could for Bilbo, retrieving the Hobbit's short sword from where it had fallen into his barrel and trailing Dwalin as he carried the impossibly still Halfling the entire way to Laketown, refusing to put him down.

But once he had been situated in the largest room the house had to offer, and Oin had told them he very little chance of recovery, Fili had seemed to fall into himself, taking care of his new weapons diligently and quietly, forgetting to eat or sleep until his uncle or one of his cousins gently prompted him to do so.

This was a mess. Everything had fallen apart so quickly that Thorin felt like he suffered some form of whiplash from it all.

The Company needed a rest, even though each seemed to be fighting some inner demon, surely blaming themselves with their own version of how and why they could have done something different.

The young King had always found a way to bring moral to his people, even in the darkest of times. And so, he kept his doubts to himself and continued on, speaking with Balin and securing their plans for Durin's Day, how they would go back for Kili after and treat Bilbo before. Three times a day he brought a broth to the Hobbit's room- he had Bombur keep a steady supply for when he woke up- would spoon some into his mouth and speak to him, telling him of their plans and how his part was dire to their success. The fact that Bilbo had yet to even twitch, the shallow rise and fall of his chest the only sign that he still lived, did nothing to make him feel any better.

But he still did it, for he felt it was his duty, unable to explain why even to himself. Things would be better, and that's all he could hope for.

He paused just outside the large wooden door, plain in its design, yet solid and heavy. He took a deep breath and passed the steaming bowl from one hand to the other, reaching down to grasp the ornate knob that seemed entirely out of place in the decor.

Tonight he might tell the Hobbit about their plans to rescue Kili. He had yet to speak of it with him and knew that he would be delighted to hear that they planned on doing _some_thing for the lad.

But when he opened the door, instead of the greeting he usually gave when bringing in breakfast, his jaw fell slack as he stared at the large bed across the room, its blankets now all ruffled and turned about.

The wooden bowl clattered on the floor, hot broth splashing his boots and soaking the rug, though he did not notice. The only thing he could see was the empty bed where Bilbo no longer lay and the curtains that blew in a winter breeze through the open window.

**/HOBBIT\**

_It was dark, and it was cold. He felt as if he were floating through a wide open space, and yet he was suffocating. How had he gotten here? He could not remember. Where _was _here, exactly? He blinked his eyes (or he thought he did, he wasn't entirely sure if he even had a body anymore) but the darkness stayed the same. Maybe he was dead. Yes, that would make sense. But, wait. How did he die? He couldn't remember that either. In fact, he couldn't remember anything, now that he tried. What was his name? Where did he come from? Did he have a family? These questions puzzled him greatly and he found that he no longer wanted to be here. Dead he may be but there had to be something more to death than an empty black nothingness filled with the overpowering sound of rushing water._

_Wait. That was something he _did _remember. Water. There had been water, the sounds of it crashing against rocks and rushing through it's channel roaring through his ears. And that's when he realized where he was. He was still under water. He thrashed and struggled, fighting his way up and he suddenly couldn't breathe._

_Warmth fell across his face and this time when he blinked, he could see a light, faintly glowing far away. He needed to reach it, this he knew. He had been here for too long and if he stayed, he would never be able to leave. So he turned his face up and fought for his life._

**/HOBBIT\**

Tired green eyes fluttered open, the only movement he had made in almost three days. He felt stiff, immensely so, and frowned deeply at the darkness that greeted him. There was a low flickering light coming from across the room that cast an orange glow through the night and created long shadows that took forms different than what they actually were. To say he was frightened would have been an understatement, but so would saying he felt confused. Little did he know both of those emotions would become very familiar feelings to him in the days and weeks to come. But all he could do right now was sit up, slow and sore, and wonder just where the heck was he?


End file.
